


Crossroads of Destiny

by The_Furthest_City_Light



Category: Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Family, Gen, Scene tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Furthest_City_Light/pseuds/The_Furthest_City_Light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The market scene from Dastan's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads of Destiny

Dastan heard a yelp that was all too familiar.

_Bis._

Instantly, he was moving, weaving his way through the crowds as only a child born in the streets could. He hurtled toward his friend's screams, panic seizing his heart.

He was grateful for the pact they'd made not so long ago, when they promised to never be too far away from one another. Dastan soon came upon the loud scene. A horde of uniformed men were knotted around what he assumed was Bis. Out of the corner of his eye, Dastan saw another three soldiers attempting to calm a rearing horse. Almost instantly, Dastan deduced what happened.

Knowing Bis's luck, the poor boy had probably spooked the horse accidentally. And seeing as the horse was currently riderless, the soldier that had been upon his back was probably thrown. The soldier, feeling that his honor had been wounded, was taking it out on Bis. Such things were not uncommon, and often times, the soldiers were cruel men who took much pride in their position in life. Most of the time, the common soldier experienced an upbringing similar to Dastan's, and their now elevated rank gave them an elevated view of themselves, especially when compared to the impoverished class they'd come from. So no, it was not unusual, and it was most certainly within their rights to punish people who mocked them.

That didn't make it right.

Bis was his best friend, and might as well be his brother. Though a few years younger--Bis was only _seven!--_ they had a friendship born of mutual need for love, and contact of some kind that didn't involve glares and insults, which seemed to be the only attentions the rest of the world could give them. When they were together, they could be children in ways they couldn't apart. With Bis he could laugh and tell jokes and tease and just be a child for a few precious minutes. Eventually, they taught each other how to soar through the city across the rooftops. Of the two of them,Dastan was always more daring. It suited him, made him feel like he was a bit more capable of protecting Bis than he perhaps was. Their friendship was also born from utility-- it was easier to survive when you had allies, and even one person was more than either had been able to hope for.

So Dastan ran to his friend, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't too late to stop the soldier from beating him to death.

He supposed he must have truly looked determined and angry, because the crowd of soldiers watching the beating actually parted for him.

" _Stop!_ " He screamed. The soldier didn't listen to him and beat his friend once more across the face. Luckily, Bis still looked alert. That would make getting away much easier.

He glanced briefly down at the apple he had bought just a minute ago. He had actually paid for this one. The nice old lady that he saw once in a while had given him the coin. Oh well, there were more pressing matters than an empty stomach.

He screamed his protest again as the soldier raised his hand to strike, and threw the apple.

It hit the soldier in the shoulder.

The man was so startled that he just looked at Dastan for a moment, incredulity and shock written all over his face.

Dastan wasn't about to lose his momentary advantage.

"Run, Bis! Run!" He shouted, and ducked under the soldier's arm before sprinting past Bis and out of the circle of onlookers. He was confident that Bis had kept his wits about him. Sure enough, a set of very familiar footsteps echoed his own.

He ran to the top of a roof and brought Bis behind a wall.

After taking a quick look at his friend, and knowing that without a doubt the soldiers were still behind him, Dastan realized that his friend was quickly tiring, and that the beating had taken more of a toll on him than previously thought.

"Stay here," He said kindly. Bis looked like he was about to protest, but he couldn't be sure because Dastan had already made his way around the corner, waiting for the soldiers to come out.

One of them, being heavier by far than Dastan and Bis, fell through the roof. Dastan gave a shout of victory before turning and sprinting across the roof.

Then he was soaring.

Nothing would ever compare to the sensation. He jumped from roof to roof, knowing full well that any misplaced step, any stupid choices in the direction he took could spell the end of him. It was a heady sensation, one that he reveled in. The punishment he would get if he were caught was enough to make his stomach coil, but at the moment, none of that mattered. At the moment, it was all just a game, and Dastan could easily win if all they intended to do was chase him across rooftops. He was faster than them, by far, and he could outmaneuver them easily.

So he leaped and soared, pushing his body to the limits of human capability. If it was just a race, if his only opponents were behind him, then he could have won within the first thirty seconds. As it were, this game was not like that.

All the soldiers in this sector of the city (which were a lot, considering it was one of the seedier parts. The uniforms were needed to keep any semblance of peace) seemed to be after him. They kept bursting out of houses, seeming to appear out of thin air, leaping onto roofs so he had no choice but to keep running and running.

The end result was inevitable. He was fast, and agile, and extremely adept at getting out of tricky situations, but there was only one of his twelve year old selves and there must have been a hundred war trained soldiers.

He lost.

But somehow, he just couldn't seem to accept that. It took eight soldiers to carry him, young and scrawny he may be, back to the square for all his struggling. What could he say? He didn't know _how_ to give up. If he did, he wouldn't be alive right now. Sheer stubbornness was as necessary for survival as allies.

They led him over to a block, where they put his hands in front of him.

His struggling efforts redoubled with the realization of what was about to happen to him.

They were going to take away his hands.

Once again, this was not an uncommon punishment, especially for thieves. Odd how he was getting it now, when the only thing he had stolen was a little hot air from the evil man's oversized head.

Without his hands, he couldn't fly.

Honestly, they may as well kill him now. Running across rooftops was the only real joy he ever got, aside from his friendship with Bis, but more than that, without hands, he couldn't work. He couldn't even steal. He would die slowly and painfully, and completely alone, because he wouldn't allow Bis to risk himself so often for his expense. He would die of hunger, because he couldn't feed himself, if the blood loss didn't kill him first.

So he struggled and struggled and as the sword was raised, he even screamed his frustration, but it was all to no avail.

The man who had beaten Bis earlier now brandished his sword above his head and screamed, "In the King's name!"

_Oh, really?_ Dastan thought. _He was going to justify this by claiming he was blessed by the king to do so? He was going to pretend that what he was doing wasn't based on his wounded pride, but upon a divine blessing that the king had given him?_

Dastan knew that pride and honor was everything to these men. It meant quite a lot to him too. He just didn't think falling off a spooked horse justified giving out a beating to a young, defenseless boy.

Suddenly, everyone was moving in the same direction-down.

Even his would be attacker had dropped, prostrate on the ground. Only Dastan stood, curious about what had happened, and surprised at his sudden freedom.

He looked around, and soon found his answer.

The king-the bloody _king!_ -was astride a horse that was among the finest that Dastan had ever seen. The man was only identifiable to Dastan by the crown that adorned the man's head, for he had never laid eyes on his ruling monarch. The man had very kind, yet serious eyes, and a dark beard that was just beginning to show traces of gray.

He locked eyes with the king. Distantly, he realized that he should probably bow, now that he knew the source of the action. But frankly, it was a quicker death to have a sword shoved through his heart than to starve to death.

And more than that…he was not ashamed of what he had done. He did not regret. Because of his actions, Bis would remain unharmed, and even if Dastan died, his friend would live.

So he held the king's gaze, unafraid of the consequences. Though Dastan couldn't be sure, the king seemed to be contemplating something.

"What is your name, boy?" The king finally asked. He had a rather gruff voice, but Dastan found that it was still oddly comforting.

Dastan didn't need comfort. He if he could sell courage and confidence, he would be richer than the king.

He kept his gaze locked on the king's eyes, and spoke.

"Dastan, sire."

The king didn't hesitate, "And what of your parents?"

Dastan furrowed his brow and looked away. Why would the king want to know of his parents? Was he hoping to extend the punishment to them? It didn't matter anyway. His parents had died long ago. He had never met his father, and his mother had died when he was five. He always tried to avoid thinking of her, for she had been a loving and kind woman, who had taken good care of her son until her death, and he always got a strange ache in his chest whenever she was brought up. Looking back, he saw the signs of illness and sickness that he had not understood before. He often fancied that she had held on until she was sure he would be able to fend for himself. It was a lovely fantasy.

He didn't say anything but shifted uncomfortably, and the king seemed to take it for the answer it was-he didn't have any.

"Boy?" He said. Dastan looked back up at him. The king had an odd, unreadable look on his face, but if Dastan had to guess, it would be something resembling...pride?

The king threw the apple back to Dastan. It was the same one he had thrown earlier (1). Dastan caught it with both hands and looked back at the king, confused.

But the king looked away. "Brother, take him up."

Dastan looked to the man who rode behind the king. Was this the famed adviser? The brother of the king?

The bald man looked intimidating, but there was something kind in his eyes as he offered his hand to Dastan. Instantly, and for no apparent reason, Dastan trusted him. It was a foreign feeling, to trust so quickly, but somehow he knew that this man would not hurt him.

Dastan placed his hand in the older man's before being swung up onto the horse.

Before he knew it, his world was replaced with something far, far different.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) This has always bugged me about that scene. I think the apple that the king gives Dastan is supposed to be the same one he threw at the guard, but that apple is red, not green like the one Dastan had. However, I think this is just an error on the prop guy's part, so I made it the way that I thought it was supposed to be done.
> 
> Well? What did you guys think? I know that I potrayed Nizam as the kind and caring uncle here because frankly, that's what he was until he found out he could have power for his entire life, and greed twisted him into the cruel man that we saw in the movie. That is why his betrayal cut so deeply, because he had been so highly regarded and trusted.


End file.
